


CONVICTION

by SoleilVioleta



Series: In Which The World Needs Continual Saving [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-08-05
Updated: 2013-06-25
Packaged: 2017-11-11 11:39:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/478150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoleilVioleta/pseuds/SoleilVioleta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel goes to the Winchester brothers for help when it becomes apparent that something is killing Angels, and to make matters more perplexing, it is killing them without the use of Angel Blades. They must figure out what it is, how and why it's killing, and stop it, before Angels are obliterated completely. Somewhere along the way, they make it mad and it begins killing humans too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Barachiel

**Author's Note:**

> PLEASE READ THESE NOTES BEFORE PROCEEDING TO THE FIC ITSELF.
> 
> The Road Thus Far:  
> Sam and Dean Winchester, the supernatural hunter brother team extraordinaire have averted the apocalypse, done away with the Mother of all monsters, defeated humanity's latest threat the leviathans, and survived/escaped/re-opened Purgatory (without having to make any deals involving souls this time!), all the while killing whatever hazard they come across. It's been about a year, and they've been going from job to job as 'normal'; but they haven't heard from Castiel (who almost lost his Angelic Essence on the way out of purgatory, trying to shield the Winchesters from a blast of malign cosmic energy left as a present from the Leviathans) since the escape. They're too busy saving lives and enjoying their return to routine to worry about it too much, but it's a problem that they've acknowldged.  
> This is a Destiel fic, but only hints will be contained within this main-body fic (it will appear as a bromance, as is canon). The scenes that actually include romance are not plot integral and will be posted seprately (hence, this will be a 'series') so that non-Destiel shippers can also enjoy this specific work.  
> The plot of this fic is/was written BEFORE season 8 is/was released (it is to release soon, as I understand it) and may therefor be considered an AU; it may contain headcanons that will be explained if they pop up (such as the idea of Angelic Essence).  
> Warnings and rating will be updated if need be as the plot progresses (possibly for violence or sexual content).

"I'll be happy if we never have to find another 7 branched antler sharpened by a virgin covered in a mixture of amber-bug, berry juice, lamb blood, and sacred dirt ever again." Dean tries his best to wash the sticky mixture off his hands, but it's stubborn and the soap the motel has provided is shitty. A day's worth of work turned into a week for a complicated pointy stick.

"What, because it was hard to put together and gross to carry, or because you don't want to have to deal with any more pissed off Pagan gods?" Sam sits on the edge of one of the beds. He pulls out his salad and sets the bag (containing Dean's burger with extra bacon and extra cheese because 'Hey we just killed another god! I deserve something nice and they don't have pie!') down onto the side-table between the two. He steals a few fries.

"Both, man. How many gods we gotta down before they decide to lay low? And that crushed bug shit was nasty, you can't deny that." Dean hates when the killing gets complicated. Things get infinately more dangerous, especially if the menace catches on. Which this one had.

"It was, which is why you held it." Sam stirs the dressing into his salad. 

"I know, I know. But whoever came up with this rock paper scissors idea is the worst." Dean retorts, grabbing his bag from the table, and looks inside.

"But in a way the amber made some sense, I mean it's essentially the blood of trees, right? And that god was all about blood." Sam hasn't always enjoyed putting the pieces of the puzzle together. When he was young, he felt forced to do it. But eventually he knew that he was actually good at it, and he started to like seing how fast he could figure things out.

"Did you take some of my fries?" Dean asks, eyeing Sam suspiciously. He already knew that Sam had. He always did. It's a joke, but Sam doesn't take the bait.

"No! Why would I do that?" Sam replies quickly, rolling his eyes. He makes a face and continues eating his salad. Dean smiles, but before he can contine to jab at his brother, Sam speaks, "So what's up with you being so cranky whenever we go somewhere new?"

Dean frowns, pulling his burger out of the bag, "Why do they always put these things at the bottom? That's stupid, I've got to knock my fries over to get my burger."

Sam puts down his salad. He's exasperated, but no more than he usually is. Dean pretty much always refuses to talk about his feelings, "Come on man, it's obvious, and it's getting annoying. I know it's not working the job, so what is it?"

"Have you not yet figured out that if I am not talking to you about something, I don't want to talk about it?" Dean is an expert at deflection. Questions and evasive statments come naturally to him. He's lucky because when he was younger, it helped him keep his brother in the dark about their dad. Or maybe it's more like he's lucky that learning the skill when he was younger seves him well now. He bites into his burger as if it has wronged him.

"Well Dean, have you not figured it out yet that if you're acting wierd I'm going to ask you? You always end up telling me anyway, just get it over with! Is it about Purgatory? Or Cas?"

Without warning, the lamp flickers and their accumulated papers from the job flutter about the room.

"Speak of the devil." Dean comments, turning to see Castiel. He seems more disheveled than usual. But Dean isn't surprised, Castiel pretty much always looks like a mess.

"No, not Crowley." he frowns, tilting his head slightly and scrutinizing Dean, "This is the second time you have said that. Why do you keep thinking I am Crowley?"

"He didn't mean it Cas, it's an expression. He probably doesn't even remember saying it before." Sam picks his salad back up, settling in. He knows that Cas will have a lot to say; no one disappears for a year and reappears without news. Usually, bad news.

Dean glares at Sam, "And you remember the last time I said that?"

"Hey I'm just saying that if Cas says-"

"Enough. I am sorry if I am interrupting an argument but I don't care. We don't have time for this." Cas interrupts without remorse. As most things Cas does, it's a calculation. Pros vs Cons, ends (usually) justifying means, needs over wants. He wants to let the Winchesters have it out, as he enjoys their banter. It's part of their charm, he thinks. He wants to talk with them and laugh with them and ask them how they are doing and what they've done since the whole Purgatory mess. But what he needs is more important. With a crisp thought he transports them to the Impala, just outside. It's cold, but Castiel doesn't feel it. Sam and Dean are displeased and it shows on their faces.

"What's going on?" Sam asks immediately, brows knitting together. Castiel senses that Sam has completely dropped his aggravation with Dean, he knows that there are more important problems to attend to.  
Dean, on the other hand, seems only more cross. Cas is fairly certain it has to do with the teleportation-without-warning, which he'd long ago said he wouldn't do.

"Get some gear, we have to go." he replies in the laconic manner that Sam and Dean have come to recognize as destinctly Castiel.

Dean opens the trunk, he doesn't have to hear the word danger to know that he needs to be prepared. He briefly wonders if whatever Cas is talking about will make him wish he was fighting nothing but old gods with weird fetishes. He hopes not, but when is it ever that easy? There's always something.

Castiel speaks as quickly as he can without sacrificing understanding, his words are clipped and carefully chosen as the quickest route from point A (thw Winchesters having no idea of what is going on to point B (the Winchesters knowing exactly what is going on), "Something is killing Angels without Angel Blades. I've found a pattern. We need to go round up the next ones to protect them."

"I thought that wasn't-" Sam says, as he and Dean are shoving supplies into their duffel, and suddenly they are not; "Possible."

The sounds of the forest thay are now standing in go unnoticed by Sam and Dean (although Castiel fleetingly cherishes them).

"Cas you've got to stop doing that!" Dean looks pale, and he is gripping the duffel bag tight enough to turn his knuckles white, "Jesus man, I get that we're in a hurry but give a warning or some crap."

"I'm sorry Dean, there isn't time for formalities. I believe he is this way." Castiel begins to walk briskly away from Sam and Dean. They exchange quizzical looks, but follow.

They quickly come upon the angel. There's no break in the bright green forest. No hole in the treetops. Nothing to indicate how he had gotten to the base of the tree, slumped over. A white rose bush spread from beneath him and curled out into the forest and indicated his presence, but nothing more.

Castiel crosses the last bit of the gap by teleporting himself. He crouches by the still figure, "Brother?" he asks, shaking the shoulder of his comrade lightly. The head of the pale blonde man lolls to the side. His eyes are almost completely closed and his mouth is partially open.

"Castiel." he says, but it sounds like a hiss, dry and laboured.

"Barachiel. Hold on. We'll get you out of here." Cas looks to the Winchesters, standing to his left, looking very alert. Barachiel's breath catches, as if he forgot to breathe for a moment, and his dull skin grows paler by the second. He reaches an arm out towards the boys. Sam, being closer, immediately drops, to the ground while Dean continues to keep watch.

"No... not you... you are... empty." Barachiel sighs between his words. Sam looks taken aback.

"What?! I have my soul back!" he proclaims, as Dean kneels down.

Barachiel shakes his head only very slightly, "Not... my meaning."

Castiel looks panicked. His eyes search rapidly for a wound of any sort but cannot see one. He has no idea what to make of this situation, "Barachiel what are you talking about?" he inquires hurriedly. He wishes he had a more eloquent question, something more to the point and all encompassing, so that he could get the answers he really needed.

But Barachiel locks eyes with Dean and ignores Castiel, "What do you need buddy? Make it wuick we gotta get you some place safe." Dean is gruff rather than kind when asking. He is on edge, unsure of what to expect. But any hunter worth his iron and silver knows that something that can take down an Angel without an Angel blade is nothing to be trifled with.

Barachiel grabs Deans' shirt and frowns, for a moment Dean is fairly certain that the infinite sadness in the dying angels' eyes is enough to kill a man, "There is no... safe place." He opens his hand and plunges it into Dean's soul.


	2. But Dean You Are The Angels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shit goes down and Castiel explains what the hell just happened. Sam is concerned, Dean is disgruntled, Cas is at a loss for what is causing said shit to go down.

Dean lets out a strangled scream. He's in total agony and he wants to tear away and stop the pain but he can't move. He doesn't want to know what happens when you move while an Angel is still gripping your soul. The light that shines from Barachiel and Dean is enough to light the area so thoroughly that a satelite picks up the shine, if only for about a minute. But it's nothing compared to how Dean feels. Later, when he is asked to explain the sensation he is currently experiencing, he will remember it with a clarity that he deeply wishes he did't have, and he will reply with, 'Hot. Weird. Uncomfortable. I dunno, how is it supposed to feel!?"; and he will continue to wake from dreams in which he is reliving this experience with a racing heart, and aching chest, and a serious need for some sort of selective amnesia.

To say that Dean felt 'hot' would be misleading. He felt as if lava fresh from the molten center of the earth was filling his body, instantaneously burning every fiber of his being and simultaneously caurterizing the entrance point (he knew that this was where Barachiel had grabbed him, but it wasn't exactly his chest. It was more like where his chest would be, if Barachiel had grabbed him physically.).

To say that Dean felt 'weird' would also be misleading. Every inch of anything that made Dean, 'Dean' was being compacted as much as possible and shoved together and stitched to and surrounded by something new.

To say that Dean felt 'uncomfortable' is not only misleading, but also the most gross of understatements. 'There isn't enough room inside me for all of this.', he thought. Dean was certain he was going to explode from the inside out, only he wasn't sure where exactly a soul is kept, so maybe his body would remain in tact while the mystery-rest of him splattered the forest and his brother and his friend. He felt far too full and far too cramped but he could not force any of it out. He wasn't sure if he was still breathing or if his heart was still beating. How could he continue to function while withholding so much? He wasn't meant to hold so much.

As for how it was supposed to feel, there was no way that it was 'supposed' to feel. It was the first time that such an event had ever occured, and something similar would only happen once more in all of time.  
The moment lasts about one and a half minutes, but as with most supernatural phenomena, it feels much longer to Dean. The light fades to a small, pulsing glow, and the 'odd' feelings that Dean is experiencing follow in similar suit.

Barachiel lets go of Dean's soul, and his hand falls limply to his side. Dean collapses to the ground breathing heavily, and Sam practically leaps over Barachiel to check on his brother, momentarily forgetting that they might all be in grave and immediate danger.

Barachiel turns his head so slowly to Castiel, who has not moved but is now wide eyed and completely shocked. Castiel meets Barachiel's gaze and opens his mouth to ask any of the millions of questions he now has, but before he is able, he is overcome by the grief in Barachiel's eyes. Castiel is fairly certain that the infinite grief contained within Barachiel is deep enough to be all consuming instead of muddled with other emotions, and Cas is scared. What could have possibly made Barachiel, the Archangel in charge of overseeing blessings (such a beautiful thing, of all things to be overseer to), so impossibly hurt.

Almost as an afterthought, Barachiel speaks, "Jerahmeel." and he sounds so melancholy that Cas cannot help but shed some tears, and Jimmy Novak, as deep as he is buried beneath Castiel, wails in grief. Barachiel ceases to move, and then he ceases to exist. His body gradually fades into nothingness, and when his body is gone, he is no more.

"Cas, what just happened!?" Sam asks, looking helplessly between Dean and Cas. Dean is too busy rolling over and hurling to ask, "What the FUCK was that?"

Castiel blinks, and they return to the motel room. Sam stands and helps Dean to his feet, making sure that Dean gets to his bed. He shoves the burger back into the bag and looks disappointingly at his salad, which had spilled onto his bed when Cas had first trasported them to the Impala. Now he was worried, confused, hungry, and had a bed partially soaked in fat-free dressing. He was displeased to say the least.

"Augh..." Dean groaned from the bed, clutching his stomach and clenching his eyes shut. He wasn't feeling quite as bad, but he was trying his best to forget the experience and not throw up any more.

Castiel, pacing at the foot of the beds looks to Sam before directing his attnetion to Dean, "I'm not sure. I think... hm. I'm not sure what to think." He pauses in thought, "To find out for certain would require me to feel Dean's soul. And I don't think it would be wise to do so currently."

Dean rolls over and his eyes shoot open. He looks as if he is blaming Sam and Cas entirely for the turn of events that has just transpired, and that he is personally offended. Really, he is just queasy and angry at being violated, "Just do it."

"Dean, that's ridiculous! No way, you need rest first." Sam is incredulous. His brother is more stubborn than his father ever was.

"I have to agree with Sam. You need to recouperate." Castiel agrees with Sam, but stays standing.

"Recouperate from what? You don't even know! Now just do it now so I don't have to feel like crap later, goddamnit!" Dean barks back, the bed sqeaks as he sits up and he scowls, as he is apt to do. His posture relays that he is still feeling sick, but that he is trying to hide it.

Castiel glances to Sam, who shrugs. There's no use fighting Dean once he's set his mind on something like this.

The room is quiet. Sam crosses his arm and watches. He hates seeing his brother in pain, and hates not being able to do anything about it. He wonders what exactly it was like when Dean had to deal with the previous detoxing after he'd been hooked on demon blood, or when he'd recieved his soul back. Sam quickly decided that he didn't want to think back on those times. His mouth sets into a grim line. He's used to seeing his brother hung over. But this is different, he can't fix it with asprin and water.

Cas pulls over a chair to the space between the beds and gives Dean his belt to bite down on. No sense in screaming and disturbing the nearby occupants. With as much concentration as he can muster, he very carefully explored Dean's soul.

It took very little time for Castiel to figure out what had happened.

He releases Dean's soul without any trouble, and moves his chair to face both the Winchesters at onces, he doesn't know how to explain this. Dean returns the belt.

"So what's the diagnosis, doc?" Dean tries to act nonchalant. He really just wants to pass out and sleep for a few days straight.

Castiel doesn't answer right away. He doesn't even acknowledge that Dean has spoken. A moment passes in silence. Dean begins to look very worried.

"Cas?" Sam prompts, leaning forward to make sure that Cas is still mentally with them.

"This is complicated. And hard to explain." he looks apologetically at both Sam and Dean.

"Well it's not like we won't believe you, and we've heard some pretty whacky things, so start from the beginning and lay it on us already." Dean grimaces. He knows he isn't going to like what Castiel is going to say. Nothing complicated is ever good. Nothing hard to explain is ever easy to fix.

"You know that Angels have to take vessels to walk on Earth." Castiel begins, "These vessels are not our true forms. If you are to think of an Angel as a creature... we are the thing closest to a sentient soul as possible. Our forms aren't necessarily tangible when not in heaven or contained within a Vessel. If you think of a soul as a ... hm... particle, these particles comprise our essence, and are usually spread out. When we take vessels, these particles are concentrated. Essentialy. I think. Well, I know how it works, but I don't know how to make you understand." Castiel stops. He doesn't want to be confusing.

"No, no, we're with you. Please, go on." Sam assures him. He looks to Dean who shows no signs of understanding or confusion. Blank acceptance on his front.

"If you're sure." Cas hesitates, but Sam nods so he continues, "Well, when an Angel dies by Angel Blade, the blade extinguishes the life force from all of the particles. The particles remain, much like a human corpse. It just... ends their time, so to speak. At the core of our true form, we have two things. Our Grace, which connects us to God and Heaven and gives us our powers. Every Angel is naturally born with such a thing, but we can lose it, as you know. But we also have our Essence. Most angels that fall from Grace do not lose their essence. it is what makes us Angels rather than souls, or rather than humans, if we are in a vessel. Particles are life force and personality, Grace is power and holiness, Essence is what makes us angels at all. I expect that humans have an essence too, but your souls are very complicated and I've never singled one out before."

"You're talkin' words that don't seem relevant Cas, get to the point." Dean seems utterly uninterested in the explanation that Catiel is giving, but no one is particularly surprised.

"What I'm trying to get at," Cas puts emphasis on the trying, he is tired of being interrupted, "is that when Barachiel dove into your soul... well, I felt him die. All of him. That's what's been happening to the other angels. When an angel dies of a blade, you can sort of... feel where there essence and grace lay. You can see a corpse, it's a similar deal but with more intuition than certain sense. But these angels. There's no vessel, no soul, no particles, no grace, and no essence. They are just gone."

Sam is taking things in stride. Dean feels apathetic, but he knows once the gravity of the situation sinks in, that he will be freaked out.

"So...?" Sam prods.

Castiel takes a moment to gather his final thoughts, then continues, "So. I felt Barachiel die, in the sense that his Grace was put out, and his Essence was separated from his particles, which remained in the vessel. The life force in the particles died, although it was strange that the vessel and particles did not separate, and also odd that they disappeared..." he trails off, distracted by trying to figre out what is actually happening with the bigger picture.

"Yeah, and, what happened to me?" Dean prompts, slightly abrasive, very impatient.

"Barachiel gave his Essence to you." Castiel says it casually. As if it happens every day. Like brushing teeth, eating food, sleeping, breathing.

"He what?" Dean asks, deadpan.

"He gave his essence to you. I can feel it sort of tied to your soul now."

Sam and Dean stare at castiel, unsure of what to say, or think, or what to do about it.

"Well I don't feel very angelic." Dean frowns, looking at his hands. He felt horrid during the transaction, but now felt normal barring his queasyness, which was almost gone at this point.

"Hm. Feeling around, I got the impression that you have to accept the Essence." Cas nods. He doesn't feel like Dean is very angelic either.

"So like a Vessel?" Sam muses aloud.

"Sort of. Different though. I've gathered that Dean can accept different amounts of the Essence. And it's likely better that he not accept it all at once. It's a very strong essence. barachiel was an Archangel, you know. And also it seems to be tied to something else; something tugging from the other end. Not Barachiel. So we don't know what will happen if Dean accepts too much of it too fast."

"Archangel. Pulling. Okay. So-what-" Dean tries to articulate his inquiries, but cannot.

"If nothing was pulling and he safely accepted all of the Essence, what would happen?" Sam asks instead.

"Well," Castiel reaches no conclusion about what is happening to his bretheren, "Dean would become an Archangel, and I assume be given Grace. technically it would be the birth of an ANgel, which has not happened for many millenia"

"I get to house Barachiel? No thank you." Dean is bitter, his words are a protest to the past.

"No, it's not like that. You would BECOME an Angel. It's a clear statement on the Essence. Barachiel is gone." He frowns, "Barachiel was a good brother, and anyone would have been lucky to 'house him', as you have said."

"Sorry, I didn't mean-" Dean scratches the back of his head. He was entirely too done with being a divine vessel and dealing with asshole angels who never asked his opinion, but he hadn't meant to insult the most recently deceased Barachiel, whom he didn't actually know.

"It's fine. I'll return later. I need to try to figure out where the others in this pattern are located." Cas disappears.

Sam breaks out his laptop to begin researching everything that Castiel has just relayed, and he grabs the hunting journal that used to belong to their father and he starts to write it all down before he forgets the details.

Dean very promptly falls asleep and snores loudly.

Sam glances at his brother and sighs. Trouble seemed to follow them around. But how do you hunt something, when you have no idea what it is that you're hunting and no where to begin?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise for any typos that have wormed their way in. The program I am using to write this in does not have spell check (my laptop with Word is broken). This was a wordy chapter with a lot of information and not so much action for the bulk, but it needed to be explained for things to make sense. :) I hope everyone appreciates my awesome chapter titles.


	3. A Place to Start

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Dean quiz Cas, trying to find anything of use. There isn't much. in fact, there is barely anything at all.

It's about a day before Dean comes to. It turns out that having angelic essence slapped onto your soul makes you damn tired.

When he finally wakes up, he's hungry and thirsty and mostly feels hungover. Dean is pretty okay with feeling hungover, so long as the night before was awesome. But now he's feeling somewhat indignant about this whole situation. He gets up to shower without saying anything to Sam, who has fallen asleep at his laptop. He's drooling, and Dean snickers. His dorky little bro hasn't changed a bit.

Dean takes a long shower, and he's lucky enough that the motel has a good water heating system so it doesn't go cold half way through. He takes the time to think, because when he leaves the shower, Sam will be awake and will have questions (mostly about how he's 'handling all of this' and if he's 'feeling okay, considering').

He doesn't have a solid frame of refference for what's happened, so he starts from scratch. He hasn't been posessed, like a vessel. He hasn't been given any obligations (that he yet knows of). So all that's really happened, was a pretty painful soul-stitching, that has given him the opportunity to become an angel.

But what does becoming an angel really mean? Does it mean that he acts differently? He's never met an angel that really functions the way a human does. The closest were Gabriel and Zachariah, and they were both a little nuts. The rest seemed a little intense, if not stiff. Anna and Castiel, the two he'd liked most... well, they were very deliberate people. Castiel calls them all collectively 'Weapons of the Lord'. Soldiers.

As far as Dean is concerned he's already a soldier. But he answers to himself. Will being an angel change that? Would he gain sick angel powers, only to fall from grace for disobeying? Would being an angel bring him closer to god? Because Dean was pretty mad at god, if he really did exist.

Dean is sure that he doesn't have enough religious faith to be an angel. So why had Barachiel chosen Dean over Sam? And how is Sam 'empty'?

He gets dressed and brushes his teeth. Routine, routine, routine. Nothing is really different; not yet.

Sam wakes up groggily, thinking 'oh great, it's raining. It'll take twice as long to drive anywhere. Oh man and I've been drooling. Gross. I hope it didn't get into my laptop-' and his thoughts continue, gradually picking up speed until he sighs and drops his head into his hands, elbows proped on the small circular table in the corner. He clears his mind, knowing that it's no good to get ahead of himself about anything. He looks over to the bed where Dean was sleeping, registering that it was empty ('Not rain, the shower.'). He wants badly for a coffee and worse for a solid lead.

There's no fun in wandering aimlessly through the internet. So long as he had the life-saver that was a starting point, he could entrench himself in the murky depths of information. But without one, he was drowning in an endless sea of useless words.

Still, Sam is glad to be awake. His sleep had been plagued with bleeding white roses chanting 'You're empty Sam. So empty.'. He boots up his computer and looks at the time. It's 7:00 am. He's been asleep for 5 hours. Wasted time, he chides himself, though he begrudgingly admits that he needed the sleep.

Dean walked out of the bathroom ready to leave the motel. He wants to take the impala and leave this rat's ass excuse for a motel in the dust. So long as they go, he doesn't care where to.  
"Morning sunshine." Sam greets with sarcasm.

"Yeah yeah, I look so innocent when I sleep, whatever. Let's hit the road Sammy." He starts rounding up papers, clothes, the few weapons they've stashed for safety.

"And where exactly do you suggest we go?" he isn't sold on the idea of leaving immediately but he still closes his laptop and starts organizing his things.

"The next job, I guess. We're done here." Dean doesn't stop packing. There's not much around the room. He checks under the beds for any stray papers.

"Look, I think we need to talk to Cas again before we hit the road. He knows where we are right now and there's a lot of unanswered questions here that he might know the answer to."

Dean sets the duffel down with a huff, "Fine. I pray to Castiel to grace us with his presence." There's sarcasm in his voice and Sam can tell that Dean doesn't think that Castiel will appear. But why would he? They hadn't seen him for a year, and he randomly showed up asking for help. For all Sam and Dean know, he could disappear for now and reappear in a month when he had found another lead and needed their assistance again.

"Yes?" Castiel appeared just out of sight, as always.

"We're sorry to bother you Cas, we know you must be busy. But we're going no where with this." Sam explains.

"Yes, I am very busy. But unfortunately the others in the pattern have already vanished, so I'm no longer in such a hurry. I will try to answer your questions as thoroughly as possible." Castiel agrees, perching on the edge of Sam's bed.

"Can we please, for the love of god, do this somewhere were I can eat?" Dean is irritable and Sam notes the occurance. But it's fairly on par for Dean, who is both cranky when hungry and easily frustrated when those close to him don't stay in touch and then materializes out of the blue (this happens less often than one might expect for the life of a hunter, but this is mostly because if someone doesn't stay in some sort of contact, no matter how fleeting, they're dead and they do not reappear).

"Where would you like to go?" Castiel inquires.

"Stop right there Cas, you are NOT using your magical angel powers to take us anywhere. There are plenty of places close by, and we have to figure out which one has pie. And coffee." Dean's stomach makes an unruly noise. Sam lifts an eyebrow and smirks, "And burgers. And garlic bread. And let's just go, okay?"

Cas finds taking the Impala tedious. It's much faster and more efficient for him to simply decide to be somewhere else, and to let his abilities take him there. It's true that he does enjoy a walk from time to time, when he is in particular need of comfort. At these times, he'll mosey through Heaven, or pick a random destination on Earth, and try his best to notice all the wonderful things about him and be thankful for them. A while ago, he'd started withconcentrating on bees and flowers. He'd since moved on to letting his mind rove over whatever he was near. He was particularly fond of pebbles in gutters if a little water was streaming over them, and watching birds hop and fultter from branch to branch. But taking the Impala was different. It was a mode of transportation that was unnecessary, for an angel, at least. He tried to focus on the minute details of the car, but it was kept very clean and while it was in beautiful condition, and stylish for a car, there wasn't much to look at.

They arrive at a place that boasts 'PIE' and 'COFFEE' in the window, just as Castiel is examining a small toy soldier in the door of the leftmost back seat. Dean is pleased, a grin stretching from ear to ear. Sam looks distracted. 'He's thinking of all the things he wants to know.' Castiel ponders how well he will be able to answer what the Winchesters will ask.

The diner is small and isn't particularly clean, which bugs Sam but makes Dean smile. A place that's just a little dirty (though not too much, or you run the risk of wandering into 'this place is a total dive am I eating dirt?' territory) usually has the worst salad, but the best meat, and damn good icecream.

The waitress seems nonplussed, so they order quickly without much hassle, and when she asks about Cas refraining from ordering, they say that he's already eaten breakfast. She leaves to fetch the coffee and Castiel discovers what it feels like to be in an awkward silence. He's glad that humanity has more to offer him than awkward silences. He doesn't think he would have rebelled for a countless number of these.

He clears his throat, "The stitching is nice." he says, looking out the window.

"What?" Dean looks quizzical.

"In your car. The stitching on the seats. It's orderly and even and looks smooth. It's nice."

"Well thanks Cas. You'll never hear me turn down or disagree with a compliment to my baby. She's perfect." Dean sits back, proud, and slouches into a comfortable posture.

"We know." Sam rolls his eyes, "So, Cas. What's the pattern?"

"At first the disappearances were very sparse and seemed at random. Now almost 50 angels have completely vanished without a trace. They seem to come mostly from the same garrisons, but I don't know why. Angels outside of these garrisons are disappearing at random as well. It's very perplexing. The most recent, smaller garrisons that have become afflicted were the ones I was trying to find. I had no luck, they have all since disappeared."

The waitress brings the coffee and asks if they need anything. They reply no and she leaves.

"You've got no link between the garrisons? No reason for any of them to be chosen?" Dean continues.

"Well, they're all angels. So far no other creature has vanished in a similar manner." Cas frowns, "To my knowledge." he ammends. He thinks, then speaks, "Although, just before Barachiel died, he spoke one word." Castiel fiddles with the napkin that was set in his place on the table. He wonders how and why this all started, and while he is determined to figure it out, he worries that he might not be able to. He's never seen anything like this, and he has lived for a very, very long time. Although he'd also never seen someone transfer an essence before, so perhaps the time for bewilderment had passed.

"Yeah?" the waitress brings their food, Sam prompts Castiel to continue.

"It was a name. Jerahmeel. A lesser known archangel. Or, was. He was one of the first to disappear, and his garrison is almost completely wiped out." Castiel pauses. It's only polite to make sure that the boys are keeping up while eating. Dean in particular seems distracted.

"One of the first? Who was the first, then?" Dean asks, shovelling pancakes and bacon and eggs into his mouth, all in one bite.

"I don't know. None of the angels that have disappeared have done so around other angels, except Barachiel, so we have no idea who went first." Castiel crumples the paper napkin within his fist.

"I'll bet it was Jerahmeel. Barachiel must have figured something out, maybe Jerahmeel is the key." Sam tries to recall any information on a 'Jerahmeel' but can't. He's never even heard the name, "So. Are these angels dead, or just gone? And if they're gone... where can they possibly have gone to? I'm pretty sure the laws of physics still stand. Neither matter nor energy can be destroyed, just converted."

"I'm not sure. It is most troubling, but I cannot sense their particles. They seem to have completely ceased to exist, which I would assume means that they are no longer living." he gives Sam a 'duh if they don't exist they can't be alive' look, "If something is strong enough to do this, it would not be a stretch to imagine that it is strong enough to evade all of the laws of physics."

"Well what the hell is strong enough for that?" Dean asks, puring a lake of syrup onto his plate. Sam is alarmed with the liberal use of condiment but doesn't say anything.

"I have no idea. Except..." he looks at the Winchesters so gravely that Dean puts down his fork, "Well. The only thing I know of, is.." he clears his throat again. He really doesn't want to say this, but mostly because he doesn't want it to be true and he hates acknowledging that he's even thought it, "God."

"You think maybe god is punishing angels? By making them disappear?" Sam looks incredulous.

"I don't know what to think." Cas returns.

No one says anything for a few moments. Dean pushes his food around his plate, and Sam pushes his plate away.

"I just remembered something. This might sound crazy, but, there was this moment, when Barachiel looked at me. It was like he had some kind of sadness mojo going on." as Dean speaks, the waitress comes to take the plates away.

"Well you'd be sad too, Dean, if you were being erased from existance." Sam retorts.

"No, that's not what I mean." Dean returns with exacerbation. The waitress returns with the check.

"Dean is right, Sam. I also felt it when I met his gaze. Perhaps you did not make eye contact."

"I'll try to figure out what it means, I guess." Sam relents, and gets up to pay and leave. Dean and Castiel follow.

The bell of the door jingles as they leave, it's a light and sweet sound but the three are too preoccupied to notice.

Dean grabs the keys from his pocket. The sun is bright and it glares off the Impala, "You comin' with?" he throws the question over his shoulder at Cas.

"At this point I think it is better if we remain separate so that we may cover the most ground." Castiel answers.

"Cas, before you go," Sam turns as he opens the passanger side door, "do you know why Barachiel said I was empty?"

Castiel steps to Sam's door, "I do not. I know that you have your soul back." Sam's face falls in disappointment, "I am sorry." Castiel places his hand upon Sam's shoulder, as a sign of solidarity. He leaves it a little too long, but that's to be expcted. Castiel commonly holds physical contact too long or too short, or keeps a steady and unnerving gaze. Sam glances into the car and back, but Cas is gone.

The brothers are 50 miles out when Dean slams his hand on the steeringwheel, "Goddamnit, I forgot the pie! How could I forget the pie?!"


	4. Hope Is What Keeps Us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Dean work a case, Cas is elsewhere, presumably trying to gain another lead on the disappearing angel problem.

The road is long, as it usually is. For Sam and Dean, the road is a constant. Highways, gravel roads, dirt paths, it's all the same. Every road takes them to another case. Dean sings along with the same 5 mixed tapes he's always had. He used to hate them, back when his father said, 'The driver picks the music and the kids in the back learn to appreciate it." But eventually he did learn to appreciate them. Sam, not so much. The second Sam was in the driver's seat the radio was on and the car filled with flowing music with light lyrics. Dean felt that the car needed some sort of heavy beat and strong, impressiveinstruments to outline just how kickass she was, but he didn't really mind when Sam played his music because she was beautiful too, he made sure of that.

Sam's music, which happens to be popular soft rock at the moment, is serving as a quiet background for the current conversation.

"Well we're pretty close so I thought I'd fill you in on what we're looking at here." Sam replies impatiently.

Dean had been napping, and when Sam had woken him up to inform him of their ever shortening proximity, he'd given Sam an uncalled for proverbial lashing. Nightmares of Purgatory still visit him sometimes (and in more rare cases, nightmares of his time spent in Hell) and when he wakes up he's still scared for a moment and doesn't know if he's been screaming so he'll put out a little extra 'I'm a manly man who doesn't take any shit, about anything, from anyone.' until he feels better.

"Fine but gimme a minute to wake up." Dean adjusts his seatbelt which has managed to become very constricting while he was sleeping. He hasn't gotten out of the habit of twisting it around and putting his seat back when he sleeps, which means he also hasn't gotten out of the habit of waking up and readjusting his chair and finding it too damn tight to breathe. He adjusts his jacket and his amulet (it never did find God but it did still remind him of christmas with his brother) which had been digging into his chest and sits back, "Alright, hit me."

"Ten patients in the senior occupant wing of Mercy hospital have all died, each about a week apart." Sam runs the information through his head, quickly figuring out the best way to relay it all to Dean.  
"Okay, but don't old people die all the time? I mean, they're ... old!" Dean responds.

"Well yeah, but the thing is, they were all really surly, up until the week before they died. They all suddenly became really happy and nice. They also started talking about things that, as far as anyone can tell, didn't happen."

"So they went crazy before they kicked the bucket, I don't see how this is the kind of thing we normally look into."

"I wasn't sure at first either, but get this, they all died on the same day of the week, at the exact same time." Sam makes the final turn and they're on the last road into town. He's somewhat weary. He's working double time thinking about this case and Cas' problem, and he really just wants to sit down and read a good book. Occasionally he'll crave a law textbook. He had to work to make himself read through the thicker, wordier ones when he was at Stanford, but he loved reading about the Law. Despite all its' intricacies and loopholes, the Law made sense and to Sam, was very cut and dry. You either broke the law or you didn't. Either there was an ammendment to the law or there wasn't.

Hunting tried to be like that. It's a monster or it's not. It's an evil spirit or it's not. You kill it or you don't. It kills you or it doesn't. But it's never been that way for Sam. it was more like, It's a monster or it's not or maybe we need to redefine what constitutes a monster because we've come across vampires that have been able to control their instincts and are only draining cows and that's not bad because we eat cows too? You kill it or you don't or you give it a chance because you know what it is like to need to be given a chance?

"That does seem a little off. We're here anyway, but I won't be surprised if we don't find anything." Dean doesn't worry about wether or not they will waste their time. He trusts Sammy's instincts, and besides, they're started cases with much less evidence of anything out of the ordinary.

The motel they check into may as well be faceless. They change into suits and grab their fake FBI badges and head out to the morgue. The conversation is strained, so they mostly keep quiet, a continuation of the uneasy feeling that hasn't left since speaking with Castiel.

The coroner is a petite blonde with short, curly hair, her nametag says, 'Murphy'. It's handwritten, but all business, no slant and no curly bits, standard print. "How may I help you?"  
The Winchesters flash their badges, "I'm Agent Rogers." Dean responds.

Sam follows in a practiced manner, "I'm Agent Smith. We're here looking into a case involving some elderly who have recently died."

"Well, we have a lot of old dead bodies around here." she is sardonic enough to cause Sam to wince.

 

"We're aware. We need to see the bodies on this list." Dean hands her the piece of paper they'd hastily written down on earlier.

She begins to study the list, turning and walking towards two large metal doors, "We have most of these here, although some have been cremated already." They go down a corridor and into another room. The wall is lined with metal squares. She pulls 7 of the squares out, naming them off, "J. McInerney, C. Dean, V. Frankl, L. Hughes, S. Fletcher, J. Nimmo, and D. Duncan. I'll be working in the next room over, let me know if you need anything. Don't forget to check in with me before you leave."

"Thanks." Sam never forgets his manners, and waits until she's stepped out the door to get down to business. He usually handles poking at the bodies. He's more precise than Dean is, and while it grosses them out the same amount, Sam can keep his lunch down longer.

"Eugh, old people." Dean makes a face, "Gross enough when they're still alive."

"Dean, have some respect." Sam knits his eyebrows and frowns in disaproval, "besides, you're going t be old one day too you know."

Dean leans against a row of drawers that hasn't been opened, he scoffs, "You really think so?"

Sam, busy examining the bodies, shrugs, "Who knows. We've had a pretty good gtrack record so far."

Dean lets out a short, harsh laugh, "Ha. We've both died more than once."

"Tch, but we've always come back so far, haven't we?" He thinks he notices something, and goes to check the other bodies.

"True, but that hasn't been our doing." Dean stops leaning on the metal wall full of corpses, recognizing that Sam has figured out something.

"My point exactly." Sam beckons Dean, "Come look at this." Dean obliges, "On the palm of the hand, there's a bruise."

"That doesn't look like a bruise to me Sam, that looks like a hickey." Dean grimaces. Who would suck on the palm of an old person, and why? It gives him the shivers.

"Yeah, well, now we know it's weird." Sam looks uneasily at the bodies.

"Did you notice that they're all smiling?"

"No." Sam can't believe he missed that. He was too busy looking for the usual monster-signs. "That's..."

"Creepy?" Dean finishes for him.

"Uh-huh. I think we should go. Check out the hospital." Sam and Dean close the drawes and check in with Murphy before they leave, she gives them directions to the hospital. It's close enough that they decide to walk, "So what do you think's doing this?"

"I dunno Sammy, it's weird, right? I mean it's not... whatever issue Cas is having, weird, but it's unusual. Gotta be a monster though, never heard of a spirit or a demon doing anything like that, last I checked." Dean rolls his shoulders. He never feels quite comfortable in a suit.

"Well whatever it is, we better find it fast. It's going to kill again tomorrow at 6." Sam sighs. No, they never seem to have quite as much time as they want. Luckily, it's usually just enough time to constitute the minimum that they need.

Getting to the hospital is easy enough, getting past reception and to the elderly ward is easy enough. They begin to look in on the patients and it is less easy. Most of them are asleep or not particularly lucid.

A nurse happens by, "Can I help you?" he asks. He's got a goatee and his green eyes contrast strikingly with his brown skin. He grins more than smiles, as if he can smell adventure on the brothers.  
"Do you work in this area of the hospital?" Dean asks, he and Sam flash their badges for the third time.

"Oh absolutely. You must be here about the patients that are going crazy? What, you think someone's doing it on purpose? Seems a little far fetched to me." He looks the Winchesters up and down, trying to decide if they're any good at their job.

"Well sir, we have to check every angle of a case. How would you describe these instances?" Sam recovers from the scrutiny quite easily.

"Well, one mintue they're quiet or angry or whatever, and the next they're practically manic. All sunshine and sparkles, yapping on about how happy they are that so-and-so finally visited, or that they heard about how in the next election one candidate is going to get picked over the other. I dunno, just random stuff. I'll tell you what though, I know for a fact that Susan Fletchers' boy, Daniel, he didn't visit. Last time he was here he said 'Do you have papers that I can sign so I don't have to be bothered anymore? If she's dying I don't care about some outrageously exspensive surgery that has a jack all chance to keep her laying around in bed, just pull her plug.' And guys like that, they don't just have sudden changes of heart."

Sam and Dean exchange uneasy glances. Neither can even begin to understand hating a parent that much.

"Alright, thank you for your time." Dean gives him a tight-lipped smile. The kind that says, 'We needed to hear that but we hated hearing it, so thanks for the information.'

"No problem, anything for the Law. Let me know if you find out anything exciting!" He goes back to work, the Winchesters can barely hear him whistling the Bond themesong.

They walk through the elderly ward, passing briefly through the children's ward. Odd, Sam thinks, to keep the oldest and the youngest so close together. Wouldn't it just be depressing for both?

One of the doors in the long corridor is open, voices softly filter out, "Your mom and dad aren't here?" an adult, calm and practical.

"No, mom started crying and Dad thought I didn;t notice he said she was having allergies but I know that it means something bad about my brother and he said they were going to go get tissues for her allergies and a candy bar for me but I know what that really means, he's going to help her to stop crying and then they'll get me a candy bar so that I'm not mad that they left. She's been crying a lot lately, so I've been getting a lot of candy bars." A young girl. It's obvious that she understands more than her parents think she does.

They pass by the door, Dean glances as they pass, he sees a middle-aged doctor holding the hand of the little girl, who sports a long braid. He doesn't stop to look. Other than being very sad, it's unremarkable and not out of place in a hospital.

He just catches the words as he continues to walk past the room in stride with Sam, "Well I've got some good news. Your brother is going to be just fine."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter chapter than usual. It's just barely a chapter, but I had to eek something out. The middle chapters are a little tedious to write, if only because the main plot is slowed greatly (there will be some good character development to come though hopefully!).


	5. Perpetual Motion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Dean continue their most recent hunt.

The weather is hot, humid, oppressive. Another weight that makes the Winchesters feel so heavy when they aren't in motion. On a whim, they've decided to grab milkshakes from a place that loudly proclaims in perky spring colors, 'Best Shakes Award 2012'. They can practically see the excessive exclamation points behind the enthusiastically displayed declaration. It's a good excuse to sit and watch the town, keeping an eye out for anything out of the ordinary, anything that might tip them off as to what's going on.

"You got any ideas?" Sam asks. His jacket is slung over the back of his chair. He hates wrinkling it. He takes a sip of his free water.

Dean slurps at his thick chocolate cherry cheesecake milkshake, his jacket crumpled between his back and the seat, "Nope."

They scrutinize their surroundings.

"I was so worried! I thought for sure that I'd failed! But I ran across Doctor Simon today and sarted bawling sort of on accident and she said she'd totally pass me!" A college age girl walks by, talking into her cellphone. Despite her slightly puffy eyes, she's smiling.

They haven't noticed anything odd on the sidewalk, on any walls. There aren't any demonic omens about or any places with lots of history or particularly bad history.

"Mommy, Santa's real I KNOW it, and he's going to get me a great present, he told me so himself." A child, past the age that continues to accept the 'Santa' myth, proclaims loudly to his nonplussed mother. His grin stretches from ear to ear.

No odd events have happened in the surrounding towns. No odd acts of nature. No holidays that disturb spirits or help them to rise.

"Do you really think he likes me? I mean I know what he said, but-! I dunno!!" A teenager gushes to her friend, absolutely beaming while eating her sundae.  
There's not enough violence for it to be one of the usual monsters, such as a skinwalker or a werewolf.

"Boss was here and she said I was doing a great job. She heavily implied that I'm due for a raise." One worker says to another, both cleaning the outdoor tables of the Pizzeria next door.

"Dude, I heard you the first time. I'm glad you're happy and all, but, not only does the Boss Lady pretty much never come in, but she's on vacation." The other argues.

"Look, I know what I saw! She was right there! Vacation or not!"

"You used to say this was a dead end job. You were so sure."

"Well maybe it's not." He starts to whistle as he works. His partner cringes. As the joyful one swipes some cups into a bin, Sam can see the inside of his hand for just a split second, but it's long enough.

An old man, eating icecream from a cone, with his cane loosely held in his other hand, grumbles, "Don't see what everyone's on about. Haven't seen such a sickly hopeful bunch round here in years, and ain't nothin' changed." he frowns and scowls, a rainclous in the otherwise sunny sky.

While paying attent to his milkshake, Dean isn't oblivious. The girls across from him are still talking. The one that seems to be glowing with happiness is making large hand gestures. He sees a familiar mark upon her palm.

The brothers look to eachother.

"You thinkin' what I'm thinkin?" Dean stands, milkshake in hand.

"Dunno, but we gotta get back to the room, I think the laptop can be of use now." Sam grabs his backpack; they walk to the car and return to the motel.

"So all those people, you notice that had that hickey thing?" Sam launches right into the conversation.

"Yeah, and they all had big dumb rays of sunshine plastered to their ugly mugs." they don't notice, but they nod almost in unison.

"Well they were all talking about something that someone else had told them."

"Even though it seemed highly unlikely, if not impossible. I mean, Santa? Come on, we know that one isn't real." Sam shakes his head. He remembers the 'evil-santa' they came across a while back and wishes that they'd come across something happier instead.

"So you think that's what this thing does? tells people what they want to hear?" Dean thinks that this is particularly sadistic. The worst (best?) torture, in Deans' opinion, is letting someone beleive exactly what they want to. Don't just tear them down. Build them up first. Although since they were all dying happy, he assumed that they hadn't had the chance to fall from a hightened state of joy. He can't decide if he thinks it's better to live with truth or die a lie. He decides it doesn't matter at the moment and leaves the thought where it is.

"Yeah, maybe gives them something to, I dunno, believe in? Have hope for? Look forward to?"

"Think it only lies? Or does it tell the truth some of the time?"

"Not sure. But now we know it isn't a demon, unless they've learned to shape-shift."

"Ugh, those things are bad enough."

At first the return to normalcy is comforting. They have a hint at what they're hunting. Things seem to be falling into place. They take turns looking around and sorting through information and making calls. But it quickly returns to frustration as it deviates from averageness.

"Can't find a damn thing." Dean tosses his cell phone (the one reserved for making calls to people he doesn't know) on the bed and falls down beside it, arms out. He is beyond exasperated.

"I know. This is ridiculous. But I did check one thing on a hunch, and look at this."

Dean gets up and pulls a chair up to where Sam is working, "Yeah?"

Sam has the journal (somewhere along the way it stopped being 'Dad's Journal' and instead became 'The Journal'; near the time when the writing in it was as much Sam and Deans' as it was Johns'.), and it's opened to a place near the back, a small chunk of attatched map unfolded, "This is from back when Eve was still around."

"Okay, but we're not really on her path."

"Right, but I put this path into googlemaps, and where we are," Sam pulls up the tab he'd opened earlier, he points to one spot and traces it back to Eve's path, "is directly away from the path on a pretty substantial road." he sits back. He's a little pleased to have figured something out that might be useful. On the other hand, he's very unhappy to entertain the notion that it's something new. New monster means new weaknesses.

"So, what, it hiked over here? It jsut waited to start feeding?"

"Well, maybe it needs certain grounds, or maybe it just wasn't hungry. Who knows. But it would explain why we aren't finding anything on it."

"It does." They're both quiet for a minute, trying to decide what exactly to do. "Man, this sucks."

"When doesn't it?" Sam remarks.

The day is no longer young, and the Winchesters don't fight against unknowns in the dark, not unless they have to. No reason to give it another advantage. You make the best of what you have when you're a hunter, and soemtimes vision counts for something fierce. They turn in, but their rest is riddled with visions of smiling people living smoothed over lives, who still aren't happy; not really.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A fairly short chapter just to keep rolling.


	6. Putting out the Flames and Embers, Leaving Ashes Behind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Dean resolve the case. It's disheartening even though no innocent lives are lost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long chapter title is long, but here's another decently sized chapter! :)  
> Than pronounced like 'fan' as opposed to 'then', the 'th' is a softer sound.

It’s 6 am and the Winchesters are waking to a blaring alarm clock in a motel that they are somewhat eager to leave.

To tell the truth, Sam and Dean actually enjoy waking up on any day that is supposed to be the final day of a hunt.

For Sam, this usually means that his research and deductive skills have paid off and will finally be put to good use. He is ready to help people as much as he can, and he’s glad that he won’t have to lie about being some sort of federal agent any longer. It’s a shallow, somewhat thin, and pessimistic type of enjoyment, but it’s present.

For Dean, there’s an excitement inherent in challenge. It’s true that he’s somewhat apprehensive (and Sam is too), but Dean has been hunting so long that the negative feelings take a back seat. Not to mention, there’s very few adrenaline rushes that are as rich as almost losing your life or crushing the existence of something evil. Dean’s enjoyment is invigorating and rich, even if a bit high-strung.

Dean slaps the ringing alarm clock, mumbling about having to get up so early.

Sam sits up leisurely and rubs his eyes and scratches his head and doesn’t reply to Dean because he thinks that 6 am really isn’t all that early (besides, they always get up at 6 for crazy hunts, especially ones on a time table!). He gets out of bed, and on the way to the restroom to brush his teeth he unceremoniously yanks the sheets off of Dean’s bed.  
“Ugh- tch- come on man, I was waking up!” Dean rolls over and glowers at the gaudy floral print wall, but when he stands up there’s a slight spring to his step (not in that he’s happy about monsters, but in that his body is antsy in waiting for the action it knows it is going to see). He’s already ready for action.

“Uh-huh, whatever. Just get your ass in gear dude.” Sam stretches(he almost touches the ceiling with one arm) and yawns and closes the door.

-  
It’s 7 am and the Winchesters are eating breakfast, a duffel loaded with silver and iron and a taser in the trunk of the impala.

This does neglect, of course, the guns, but each brother has one hidden on his person. For this reason the layers of clothing each dons are more helpful than not, despite the exceedingly warm weather.

“So what exactly are e looking at? Knockin’ this thing off the grid by 6?” Dean chugs the last of his water.

“Yeah, that’s the long and short of it. With any luck, it’s already feeding so we should be able to find it.” Sam responds.

“It’ll be with one of the handfuls of sunshine we saw yesterday, then.” Dean grimaces, not looking forward to having to spend time around any of the people he saw yesterday at the icecream place.

“Well, we only saw a few people. If it’s working on the whole town it could be anywhere.” Sam rebukes.

“We need to narrow it down then. Hm... we should go to where we know it’s going to be.” Dean slaps cash down on the table, getting up to leave.

“And that is?” Sam looks questioningly at him, adjusting his collar as they head out the door.

“Well, the plate that’s the most full.” Dean leans on the hood of the car, the drivers’ side door open.

“Okay, so who is the most hopeful?” Sam puts a hand on the top of the car.

“Generally?” A switch flips in Deans’ mind, “Kids.” The Winchesters drive to the hospital.

-  
It’s 12 pm and the Winchesters are getting antsy, waiting at the hospital.

The room is quiet. The butter-yellow paint covering the walls hums and lulls, the sound of the machines seems to stifle itself out of politeness, the air conditioning is faint enough that it almost isn’t even a sound. The young boy’s labored breathing sounds wet and knotted and feeble. It hitches often. But it is not loud.

“I hate this.” Dean crosses his arms and rapidly taps his foot. He stands by the kid, rigid and taut.

“We’ve already checked the home, the jobs, and the school. There’s nothing to do but wait, so chill out.” Sam lays his hands out and makes a motion to his brother, smoothing the air as if he could smooth Dean’s tension as well.

“Maybe we’re wrong.” Dean grumbles. His fingers glide over the spot where he’s keeping his gun. HE can practically feel himself beginning to fidget and develop ticks.

“No, I think you’re right. Look, it’s going to strike at 6, if it gets closer to 6 and we haven’t seen any signs of this thing, we’ll split up.” Sam tries to compromise. He’s not particularly patient either, but waiting things out is sometimes part of the job.

“Hrmph.” Dean replies, uncrossing his arms and leaning against the wall.

-  
It’s 5:00 pm and the Winchesters are about to enact their new course of action. They hate to split up, especially when the hunt is on for a mystery monster that could have any number of abilities and any unknown weakness.

Dean settles into the chair Sam had been sitting in.

Sam grabs the trash from lunch off the floor. He looks to the boy, who has not moved an inch the entire time that the brothers have waited for the monster to show up.

The boy is pale. His skin seems sort of thin, even from a distance, and his features are sunken enough that what little of hi is available to the eye seems more skeleton-like than human. In all honesty, he already looks dead to Sam. The steady machines report otherwise, but Sam after a good chunk of the day seeing the same thing with absolutely no changes, Sam is beginning to wonder if maybe the machines are wrong. And if they’re right, how long has this boy been in this state?

Can this really be called living?

“You’ll call me if anything happens?” Dean decrees more than asks. He doesn’t treat his brother like a kid as much anymore. But some habits are hard to fall out of.  
“Yeah. And you’ll do the same.” It’s standard procedure. If shit goes down and you get a moment, you call your brother. Mostly, there isn’t a moment. But sometimes, if there’s a chase involved, there’s a minute or two spent running where one can press speed dial. And if you get a call and no one says anything on the other end of the line, you assume that something is happening (there isn’t always time to talk while in pursuit).

Sam turns to leave, but at the same moment, the door opens.

The same doctor is holding the hand of the little girl that Dean remembers. He looks up in surprise.

Dean rockets up from the chair, barely remembering not to pull out his gun in front of the child. The duffel is open and just to the left of the chair. Sam holds the trash and shoots Dean a look ‘act natural dummy!’.

“Sam. Dean.” The doctor greets. He pulls the child to himself with ease. In reflex, she hugs his leg.

“Who are these people?” she asks.

“My mother told me about them a while ago. I’ve been expecting to see them, but not so soon.” He glances at the boys, though he looks directly at the girl when he talks to her.

“Oh!” she smiles to the brothers, “Well I’m sorry if you’ve got a brother here like I do, but you should know that Dr. Toivo can fix him!”

“Uh, I’m sorry, what’s your name sweetie?” Sam asks, carefully crouching down to her level. Dean watches ‘Dr. Toivo’ intently. At times, hunting is a game of chess.

“My name is Trista! Are you Sam or Dean?” she’s loud and bright and lively, everything the room is not.

“I’m Sam.” He replies, keeping his voice even, trying not to show how stressed he is.

“You’re SO TALL!” she shrieks a little with laughter, pressing her hands to her face. Toivo keeps a hand upon her head.

“I get that a lot. Some people say I look like a moose.” She erupts with giggles, Sam continues, “So Trista why don’t you come over here?”

She tilts her head, “Why would I do that?”

“Yes Sam, why would she do that?” Dr. Toivo smiles to Sam but it’s more of a ‘I’ve got you where I want you’, than anything else. Dean inches closer to the duffel.  
“Uh, you know what, you’re right. Trista I just saw your parents and they said they needed you, could you go see them?”

Trista blinks a few times, processing the information, “I don’t know, I came here to see Than!”

Dr. Toivo speaks, she looks to him, “Trista I think you should stay right here with me. We can see your brother and then we can leave to see your parents.”

“Okay!” she readily agrees, nodding exuberantly. She stays attached to Toivo.

“Alright Toivo you know why we’re here.” Dean states bluntly.

“Indeed, I believe I do. But I think you’re going to have a hard time accomplishing your goals under the present circumstances.” He pats Trista’s head to drive his point home.  
“You know what has to happen. So do we. There’s no need to involve third parties.” Sam debates. He knows what Dean is doing.

The bottom line is that the Winchesters save as many lives as possible. But sometimes it means having to sacrifice one or two along the way. It’s not always avoidable.

Dean inches closer to the duffel and without warning grabs the silver knife out as fast as he can, flinging it at Toivo.

Sam near simultaneously lunges forward for Trista, who lets out a high pitched squeal.

Sam manages to tackle her out of reach of Toivo, letting out a gruff, “Stay back!” she scrambles up and runs to the other side of her brother’s bed.

The knife imbeds itself in Toivo with a satisfying ‘whthump’, but he pulls it out and tosses it to the ground, it’s completely clean.

Dean’s line of sight follows the knife, it lands with a clatter and his vision snaps immediately back to Toivo.

Sam rights himself, pulling out and brandishing the knife left behind by Ruby so long ago, he puts himself inbetween Toivo and the children.

Tovio steps towards Sam, completely ignoring Dean and the duffel bag, “Silver. Ah, how cute. There’s nothing in that bag that can kill me. And your demon-knife won’t do the trick either.”

Dean shoots the taser at Toivo. The nodes connect and the taser goes off. The faint smell of electricity laces the air, but Toivo remains unaffected, he takes another step forwards, Sam takes one backwards.

“Now that one was closer, but honestly. What else can you provide? Salt? Iron? Fire? Holy water?” he barks a laugh, “Ha! Try to exorcize me! That’ll be a good one. Boys it wasn’t very smart to seek me out during the time when you know I can ... feed.”

“What’s he talking about! I’m confused!” Trista trembles in fear behind the tall hospital bed.

“Trista, this man is a monster! He’s trying to kill you!” Dean pulls his gun out, cocking it and aiming.

“Now Dean, the police will swarm in a manner of minutes if they hear a gunshot in a hospital! Don’t be stupid.” Toivo emphasizes the word stupid and rolls his eyes, he places his hands behind his back, “It wouldn’t kill me, anyway. Mother was very creative with me.”

Sniffling sounds from behind the bed, “But... he said he could save Than.” Her voice wobbles and wavers. She is scared and uncertain and Sam and Dean hate the noise. Toivo seems to bask in it.

“He also said that a girl would pass her class, that a worker would get a promotion, that a son missed his mother, that some boy liked a girl, and a whole lot of other lies!” Dean supplied. He hated to crush the girls’ hopes, but he needed to stall for time.

Toivo frowns for the first time, “Stop that you. There’s no need to be cruel to her.”

“He lied?” Trista stands, peeking from behind the bed. Tovio balls his fists. The veins in his neck stand out.

Sam and Dean waste no time.

“Yes, he lied! To you and all of those other people!” Sam speaks quickly.

Trista looks at Sam and he can see that he’s broken her heart.

“That’s not true you stop that RIGHT NOW!” Toivo demands, and the brothers can see him take on a pallor, “Trista, honey, the brothers are lying! You saw them come in here and throw a knife at me, and look! This man has a gun! How can you trust them?” Trista bites her finger nails, looking between the three figures in the room. Toivo sighs in pleasure, the color returns to his face, “That’s right darling, you know that I’d never lie to you.”

“You didn’t know him before yesterday, I know that! Look at your brother, look at Than. I’m no doctor, but neither is Toivo. I don’t think Than looks very good. Didn’t Toivo say he’d get better? He doesn’t look better! You can see that!” Dean lowers his gun, as he’s talking, trista begins to cry, and Toivo starts to wither away, “Look at Toivo, Trista, people don’t normally do that.”

Trista tears her eyes from her brother. As Toivo’s face wrinkles and recedes, the last vestiges of Trista’s face fall, “I hate you! You lied to me and I HATE YOU!” Trista yells at Toivo, tiny fists clenched in rage.

Toivo turns into dust, settling on a pile on the floor. Sam grounds the dust into the floor and takes the holy water out of the duffel, pouring it onto the carpet and mushing it all around, “I know he’s not a demon, but he was hellish.”

But Dean is far too preoccupied to notice Sam’s extra preventative measures, Trista is crumpled on the ground at the side of Than’s bed.

“Trista-“ Dean begins, but she yealls at him, interrupting.

“I hate you too! I wish i didn’t know that Toivo was a big fat liar! My brother is going to DIE!” she wails.

“I know that you’re upset, but you can’t give up. A lot of people told me that my brother was done for a couple of times but I never believed them. And he’s here.” Dean tries to console her. He leaves out the fact that Sam did die a few times.

“I don’t care if your brother’s here! Toivo was a liar and you’re a liar too, leave me alone!”

-  
It’s 7:00 pm, and the Winchesters are driving back to the motel, after having returned a completely hysterical Trista to her parents.

Neither brother says anything.

-  
It's 9:30 PM and Sam is returning to the motel with food. Lately he's been the designated run-ee.

Dean is staring angrily at a wall, which is fairly unusual, but more so to people not involved with the uncanny on a daily basis. The door closing seems to snap Dean out of his staring competition with the wall. Sam is pretty sure he knows what's going on. "Cas was here?" he asks.

"Yeah." Dean replies, monotone.

"You guys argue?" Sam sits down and divvys up the grub.

"Yeah." Dean shrugs.

"He'll be back." Sam says, and begins to eat his dinner.


	7. Reluctance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam isn't feeling so great. Dean is feeling pretty shitty so he decides to try to accept some essence.

Sam Winchester is tired.  
He’s tired of the endless problems he and his brother have to solve. He’s tired of the monsters they kill and the ghosts they banish and the demons he hates more than anything. He’s tired of the responsibility that’s been dripped and shoved down his throat practically since he was born. He’s tired of having to be alert every single day every single minute every single second because what if he isn’t and something bad happens?  
He’s tired of eating half-wilted salads and protein bars, while watching Dean wolf down grease and sugar. He’s tired of not feeling good enough about himself, and that it has nothing to do with how he eats or how he looks. It doesn’t even seem to have anything to do with anything he does. It just is.  
He’s tired of his brother’s emotional immaturity because even though people can’t stop the bad stuff that happens to them, eventually they choose how to deal with it. He’s tired of seeing the strain his father left on everything he knows and he’s tired of fighting to make it through every day because he’s tired of every damn day and that makes the easy ones a struggle too.  
Sometimes Sam is just so full of being tired, and full of all the things he’s tired of and tired for, and he thinks it’s all he’s made of. And other times he’s so tired that he feels completely empty, a crumpled cardboard box ready to be thrown away.  
Sam Winchester is tired of being stubborn and sometimes he just wants to go to sleep and never wake up or to just stop being Sam Winchester. But mostly he just wants to find a nice girl that he can love, get a nice dog that he can love, and have a nice life that he can just love. And he wants that for Dean too.  
But while he tries to keep hoping he’ll get that some day he doesn’t think he will. And even though he won’t admit it, he’s worried that he’d get tired of a normal life too.  
Sam sometimes thinks he needs a break or he is going to break. And he thinks the same about the people he loves and he doesn’t know if that makes him worse because it hurts or better because he can’t let it hurt.  
But he gets up and goes for a jog and gets breakfast and kicks Dean’s bed to wake him up.  
Because he is Sam Winchester and that is what Sam Winchester does.  
But it doesn’t change anything.  
Sam Winchester is damn tired of being tired.  
-  
Half way towards Selene the Winchesters are stopping to stretch on an empty strip of isolated highway.  
“Look, I just think that you should wait for Cas to come back! He knows a lot more about angels and essences than we do.” Sam is more exasperated than usual. He’s gone through unimpressed, nonplussed, frustrated, and exasperated all in the last few minutes of talking to Dean and now he’s just incredulous and irritated. His face halts between raising an eyebrow and looking stern and Dean clearly doesn’t care about any reprimanding looks he gets from his little brother.  
“I know that’s what you think! You’ve said it twice already! I’m trying to tell you that I’m going to try this now, whether or not he’s here!” Dean is done feeling helpless.  
He almost died in Purgatory simply from feeling helpless. It had been one moment of helplessness and that was all it had taken. But when he took the reins back seconds later he beheaded the leviathan and felt alive. It was something he would never forget. He had vowed to never feel so helpless again. He is feeling like he needs to take charge of this situation regardless of his feelings about it before it eats away at his resolve as would a highly volatile acid. And that means one thing and one thing only.  
“Why do you even feel the need to do this right now? I thought you were still deciding on trying it at all!” Sam slams his door shut. He wants to be on the road again; he was getting back into the car when Dean stopped him. It wasn’t easy to adjust to Dean being gone (and it didn’t get any easier with each time Dean had died over the years), but it hadn’t been easy adjusting to him being back either. On occasion he remembers how nice it felt to have his own rhythm going, free from overbearing Dean undertones and interruptions (much like this one). He always shuts this down and instead remembers how thankful he is to have his brother back because true family is a part of you and real trust is harder to find than a way to avert the apocalypse or the ashes of a phoenix or the reason anyone good and loved dies in the first place or the reason for anything assuming there is one.  
“Well I made up my mind!” Dean’s jaw juts out and now Sam knows he means it. Sam rolls his eyes to himself and shakes his head but his shoulders soften and Dean knows he’s given in, “So after this wanna find a good bar or a restaurant or something?” Neither Sam nor Dean is very good at apologizing.  
“I dunno let’s just get this over with.” Sam replies, readying to catch his brother or shield his eyes depending upon what happens. Neither Sam nor Dean is very good at forgiving.  
Dean shuts his eyes and concentrates as hard as he can, bracing himself for some unknown impact.  
A soft breeze blows the scent of baked grass and hot asphalt.  
Several moments pass.  
Sam grinds his shoe into the ground just a little, feeling the crunch and grind of gravel on dirt.  
Nothing happens.  
“Uh…not working?” Sam finally breaks the silence.  
Dean opens his eyes and scatters his thoughts, “Damnit, no it’s not.”  
Sam looks as if he’s about to say, “I told you so.” (a look that Dean can spot from a mile away, but only because he has seen it so many times).  
“Let me try something different.” Dean adjusts his jacket and loosens his limbs, jingling the few bracelets he keeps for various sentimental and protective reasons. He clasps his hands again, “Uh, hey, god, I guess. I’d like to have some of this essence stuff. I’m accepting it or whatever. Not a lot though, I just want to get a feel for it if you know what I mean.” He mentally face-palms. Of course god would know what he means. God knows everything.  
A gnat buzzes around Dean’s head, interested in the sweat that clings to his furrowed brow.  
Several moments pass.  
Several dust motes settle onto and inside of the Impala.  
Nothing happens.  
“Please?” Dean asks under his breath.  
And suddenly Dean is feeling great.  
He isn’t sore and he isn’t angry. He opens his eyes and everything is bright but the sun doesn’t hurt his eyes. He breathes deeply and everything smells wonderful and fresh.  
Sam looks questioningly at him, but also seems to be appraising him, “Wow, actually, you look good?”  
All of Dean’s clothes are pressed, he’s clean shaven, and his hair is trimmed perfectly. His boots are perfectly worn in, his breath is fresh, and the last bruises and cuts he had are healed.  
“I’m not exactly sure what happened.” Dean supplies, “But it’s awesome!”  
There’s not a speck of dirt on his shoes nor a speck of rust on his amulet.  
Dean looks at his own hands, turning them over to see for himself the depth of the change. Not a hang nail is in sight.  
“Well, can you do any cool angel things? Tune into Angel Radio?” Sam asks. He wonders how Dean feels. He remembers when he was being “helped” by Ruby, and what it made him feel like. Powerful. In control. Able to change situations, able to change himself. A giant ripping out the insidious pages of a once untouchable book turned so fragile in his hand.  
Dean feels nothing like that.  
He tries to exercise any angel abilities that he might have gained, the way he’s seen Anna, Gabe, and Cas do in the past. None of it works.  
But he doesn’t feel disappointed.  
He feels patient.  
And that’s how he knows it’s worked.  
Dean feels lucid, as if he is a particle of oxygen realizing that it is part of air, giving life to the world. He’s all closed eyes and open palms and steady breathing from the heart.  
He smiles and Sam is surprised. He can’t remember the last time he’s seen Dean smile like that.  
But the feeling is transient.  
Dean quickly comes back down to a neutral state. Sam realizes this as lines settle back into Dean’s face, remolding his permanent scowl.  
“Nah I can’t do anything yet I think.” He brushes non-existent dust off his shoulder and re-opens the driver side door.  
“But it did work?” Sam isn’t exactly sure, Dean didn’t radiate sunshine and as odd as it is for the guy to smile genuinely it’s not an impossible feat.  
“Yeah it totally worked. At least for a minute. I dunno exactly what it did though. Felt real happy. got my clothes washed. That’s about it as far as I can tell.”  
“Well this whole thing doesn’t exactly come with an instruction manual. Not one that we can read anyway. We’d need Cas for that.”  
“He told us everything he knows already.” Dean frowns, putting one foot into the car. He doesn’t want anyone to root around in his soul again. And the argument with Cas was pretty bad. He doubts Cas will show up any time soon.  
“I know, but maybe now that you’ve accepted some of it the directions are more clear?” Sam explores every option as thoroughly as he can. As he always does.  
“Not right now Sammy. Don’t we have a hunt to get to?” Dean wishes Sam would figure out when to stop pushing issues. But Sam’s a little brother and it’s his job to never stop.  
“I guess so.” Sam concedes.  
“Well then if you’ve stretched your tender legs enough then let’s get going pretty boy.”  
“Jerk.”  
“Bitch.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In-between segue into the next hunt chapter. Just here to get some juices flowing and to keep the writing coming.


End file.
